Catch up with The Blissful Idiot – Episode I here:
http://lostinsound.org/blissful-idiot-envision-volume-ii-episode-one-happiest-place-earth
Disclaimer: The following is a real life account of a human behavioral analysis study. A secret program conducted by an unnamed public interest group in conjunction with the online publication, Lost in Sound.
Yes, this is real…
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Dear Diary,
Little known fact: apparently I’m not in Disneyworld after all. Yes, I know. It came as a bit of a surprise to me too! On top of things, I lost my stupid effing camera! By now Mr. Fluffy pen, you’re probably asking “Just what in the golly fuck have you gotten yourself into?” Well lil buddy, I have no goddamn clue. In fact, I’m pretty sure not a single fruitcake inside this fake theme park of an alternate universe does either. Nor do they care.
Damn it, where could I possibly begin? I’m gonna do my dandiest to lay this rabbit hole on you straight and narrow. Well…you remember last night? You know, when I was right in the middle of conducting an uninvited impromptu photo shoot of the creature-man they called the “Android?” C’mon, am I a VIP up in this bitch or not? Woot! Woot!
Well you see, as it turned out, I was told by someone who must’ve been president of his freakin’ fan club or whatever’s clever: “no flash photography allowed.” (FYI BTW: this guy’s a pretty big deal!) I’m like, “what photography?” Click. “You can’t see me right now!” Click, click. “I’m a sentient form of pure light!” Click-click-click. “I’m a laser! Pew-pew. Look how far I can go! Pew-pew-pew!”
However, the laser show proved to be completely ineffective. Shocking, I know! Goddamnit, why can’t I be a “sentient form of pure light” too? I mean, the lil fairy princess from yesterday was one. Along with just about every other Tom, Dick, Harry and Enrique Iglesias fluttering around this place! No fair.
But that was only the beginning. Next thing you knew, another one of his spectator-worshipper followers began chasing me around. Dressed like an extra from one of those Mad Max sexploitation videos, this brute had a mean hankerin’ for my camera. After embarking on an epic tussle for the ages (while having my delightful laser-body defiled in the process), I broke free from the manhandle grip of that Beyond Thunderdome wildebeest. Unfortunately, the camera did not emerge in tow. It didn’t matter though – I had to get out of there fast! As I zigzagged from the fracas, the brute kept shouting something while chasing close behind.
“Wait, your camera! You forgot your camera! It’s all good! Just turn off your flash next tiiiiiiiiime!”
Even though I’d already plunged far into the jungle maze, I knew he was still after me. He had to be! Just had to! I needed to hide…somewhere…ANYWHERE! Surely he’d bedazzle me with pleather carnival pants and a handle bar mustachio! Ohhhh the filth!
What’s that Mr. Fluffy pen? Where’d I go next? Well, long-magical-mystery-tour-short, after aimlessly frolicking in the forest, I found myself trapped inside a half-ass jungle dojo called the “Zendo.” Ahhhh, how clever! Supposedly it was like a human “car wash” for people hopped up on too many happy pills. (Don’t ask for details Mr. Fluffy! It’s a metaphor goddamnit!) Six hours, four pitchers of Mayan Cocoa Spice tea and one monumental staring contest later, I finally emerged from its throes a “new” man. Good lord, you should’ve seen the look in his eyes! Needless to say, I most certainly did not secure a hiding spot! Gotta go, gotta goooo! Back into the woods, onward hoooooo!
After un-turning myself around, I eventually discovered a makeshift row of what appeared to be outdoor dressing room/gym lockers. Alas, there had to be super duper hiding places inside this oversized bamboo closet. Maybe it was just me, but everyone in line seemed pretty fidgety and eager about something. Ahhhh – there’s a spot! I jumped into an open stall, immediately throwing the burlap curtain across for deep cover. Finally – my precious refuge! Jumanji! That lion tamer would never locate my whereabouts now! I’d bust out some coloring books within my own secret playhouse. Maybe order in a pizza and cheese dippers!
While gathering my bearings inside, a mish-mash of grunts and chatter floated about. There was even a guy yodeling. In between his spirited mountain calls, I overheard a couple of girlies exchanging rather curious pleasantries:
“Before I mention that I’m originally from the liquid outer core of the Earth.”
“In New Jersey???”
“Well, no. That’s like my ‘home away from home.’ “
Ahhhh – you don’t say! Then, on my left, a peckerwood named “Jaguar Fire” was spewing off hot baloney stew to some helpless bastard. Ohhhh, this oughtta be good!
“There’s like spirit waves where wayyyy more people have to poop at the same time. It’s like synchronizing the moon offering for the girls…”
“Uh huh, right, right…”
“And now it must align our poop to offer them competition. It’s like, ‘your stuff is pretty cool, but our stuff has synchronized geometry and aerodynamics that your poop can’t touch!’”
Good golly Mr. Fluffy, never in my life had I heard such crazy babble intrigue about pooping of all things. Pooping! Ohhhh, the filthy indignity! Indubitably, shit was a tad awry up in this secluded getaway station. It was right then the pieces of this jagged puzzle starting flying at me hot and steamy.
First, inside my changing room there was a seated plywood hole. But where could it lead? Perhaps it was merely an underground escape tunnel. Then there was this odd aroma filled with sawdust and a peculiar mystery funk. Noooo, it couldn’t be. Then came the real doozey. I looked down…and reaching underneath the divider near the floor was…an open hand. Oh my goodness, what did it want?!
“Greetings, have any extra teepee? All out over here.”
“Teepee?! What for????”
“Whatcha mean? We’re squattin’ on compost shitters dude! Woo-hooooooo!”
“Wait a minute – whatttttt?!”
“Compost toilets bro!”
“Toilets?!?! You mean we’re, we’re…”
“Like yeah man, they recycle everyone’s poop into…”
“Pooooop recyclers?!?!”
“Pretty neat huh?”
“Noooooo – not neat! Why on Earth would anyone do such a horrible thing?!”
“It’s all permaculture brohhhhh!”
Then it came to me. It came to me! There’s no way this could be Disneyworld. No effing way! Surely Mickey would never-ever sign off on any such poop dispenser sweatshop madness. For where was the enchantment in that? The magical wonder-bosoms? The “VIP, bitches” experience? Because I most certainly was not feeling very VIP whatsoever!
But where was I?!? Was this all a big, bad spooky dream? I must know! At that point, like a silly stupid goose, my curiosity got the best of me. Oh-so-carefully approaching, I peered down into that specter of a gaping wooden hole. That bottomless quagmire of an abyss. And what did I witness? A whopping mound of sawdust and slimy broken dreams – that’s what! Ohhhh Mr. Fluffy, where did it end!?!?
With that – Disneyworld or not, teepee exchange or not – the transaction was complete. I’d officially heard, seen and smelt far, farrrrrrrrr more than I’d ever dealt. Before you could even say “poop-shoot,” I flung that burlap sack of a curtain wide open and leapt out with a bold proclamation:
“I…AM…OUT…BITCHES!”
Almost immediately, some lil fairy banshee rushed before me in dismay.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Do you need me to hold space for you?”
In an act of total flabbergast, I threw my arms up in the air while staring straight into her kooky lil eyes.
“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!?!”
“Hold space, silly! I’ll hold space while ya go poop!”
While attempting to wrap my head around whatever gibberish this goofy nymph-child had unleashed, she took it upon herself to give me………..A HUG! Gee whiz, was she trying to squeeze it right out of me?
Nevertheless, this wasn’t just any After School Special embrace. That’s because as soon as she wrapped herself around me, a band of fart knockers aplenty from began lurking toward us. What could they possibly want though?
Before I could decipher with any golly heck certainty, the next layer of utter poop house lunacy was tossed on the ole compost cake mix. For out of the pack of happy-go-lucky bastards, one of them mightily blared – “Grooooouuuuppppp Hugggggggg!”
Ohhh Mr. Fluffy pen, what was gonna happen?! Were they insane poop cannibals? Damn it, who knows. But I was NOT about to find out!
Fiercely trying to squirm out of the fairy’s vice-grip-stranglehold, I couldn’t let these jungle-themed Jerry’s Kids contain me. I knew they’d probe my sphincter with a poop tube extractor or whatever’s clever!
While converging upon us, I could see the glee lighting up in their little eyes. Good lord, the god-forsaken glee! Without another nanosecond to spare, I summoned a burst of get-up-and-go juice and freed myself from her clutches.
“Whaaaa? You can’t leave now! No group hug?”
“You’ll never take me alive! Neverrrrrrr!”
As I broke out into the open field, the would-be gang of poop marauders were up in arms aghast over my unannounced exodus. All I could hear was a jumbled mess of clamoring and yammering trailing off from behind. That’s right – their jimmies had been thoroughly rustled! It’s like, which part of “I’m out bitches” did you not understand?! Alas, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference. Group reach-around or no group reach-around, the damage had already been done. This poop recycling business (albeit pretty fascinating) was one of the most ghastly discoveries I’d ever been exposed to. What the sam-hell were they using it for anyways?
High-tailing it like Mary Poppins wherever the wind would blow my befuddled ass, I desperately scoured the area for anything to bathe with. Anything would do! A shower, slip’n’slide, garden hose, coffee can, hot tub on wheels – anything. I had-to-had-to-had-to be cleansed of this scandalous filth crawling all over my body. Ohhh Mr. Fluffy, the vile filth!
Luckily I stumbled upon a “water refilling station.” Yaaaaay, jackpot! Here we go! Wait a minute, what’s wrong? Why won’t any water come out of this fucker? Indeed, every single one of the goddamn spigots wouldn’t squeeze out a drop of liquid. None of them!
“Holy shitballs – where’d it all go?”
“Water’s out for another few hours. They’re fixing the main pipe,” some rando chimed in.
Ohhhh sweet Donnie & Marie, I was so soooooo close too! Why-o-why-o-why could this be happening now? It was almost toooo excruciating to bear. I couldn’t wait any longer – must keep moving!
Frantically ambling along every-which-way-direction, nothing in sight was going to provide any purification. Before I knew it, I was back in the village food court o’ jollies scurrying around droves of pedestrians left and right. “Comin’ in hot ‘n’ sideways! Move along! Move along!” As I tumbled out into a clearing, there was a congregation of people huddled together by a small stage. Stopping to gather my breath, the proceedings came into bizarre full view.
For it was there the once unfathomable was already unfolding. Noooooo, this couldn’t be happening!
“That’s the waaaaay to rub it on! Yeah, gimme gimme gimme!”
In some supremely erotic display of lord-only-knows-what hedonism, people were getting covered in what appeared to be………..POOP!!!!
“Owww-woooooooo! Chocolate showwwer!”
Golly gee willickers Mr. Fluffy! They were all over the freakin’ place lubin’ and latherin’ each other up shamelessly from head to toe. Never could my days at Glitter magazine – penning columns on “Everything Kanye West Sharts” – have ever prepared me for such a dubious sight!
“Ohhhhh, I feel like a big gooey chocolate bar of love”
So this is where the poop recycling operation was rearing its filthy head! One over-sized free-for-all fecal orgy! The horror. Someone had to be the voice of reason and intervene.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! You’re rubbin’ each other off in poop!” I yelled at a group of them.
“Pooooop?! What poop ya goof? It’s only chocolate cacao duuuuuude!!!”
Indubitable! It was too late. The gaggle of shit-show splendor had been duped out their minds. This coo-coo-a-choo freak ceremony was clearly beyond control. Approaching toward yours truly with a jug of brown ooze, they were determined to make me one of their own!
“Like golly hell NO YA DON’T!”
“C’mon man, everybody wants some!”
Before they could even attempt to consume me with excrement fudge sundae, I made a break for it. They’d never take me alive! However, after swiftly fleeing from the filthy melee I found myself amidst yet another entanglement – the thick of the jungle. Oh Mr. Fluffy pen, what kind of Double Dare obstacle challenge from Dagobah was this!? I’m not gonna lie, as I tore across the unforgiving terrain, a mean case of the jimmies, willies and Stan Van Gundy fear sandwiches came over me like gangbusters. Somewhere inside this labyrinth of twisted tropical blur I had crossed a threshold. Or perhaps in the big scheme of grand pictures was where the lines had truly become no more. For this never-ending stream of once inconceivable, bewildering daily affairs was unlike any joyride revelation I’d ever subscribed to. One way or another, there was no going back. I might be in here for the long haul. Nevertheless, right as I’d made peace with the notion of being co-opted by a pack of peckerwood orangutans, an opening within the madness appeared to beckon. Lo and behold, in a furious dash through the heavy thickets of gnarly foliage despair; I finally penetrated out of that bamboo backcountry. And what was lusciously awaiting me in boundless splendor – THE OCEAN!!!!
Alas, one Zendo dojo, poop factory, aborted group hug and “chocolate” orgy later, it had finally dawned on me – I most definitely was not in Disneyworld!
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Join us next week for Episode Three of “The Blissful Idiot at Envision Festival,” when our test subject interviews the one and only Android Jones.
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All artistic renditions courtesy of Jake Beeson
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